A Little Christmas Magic
by Ms-Figg
Summary: Once again, poor Snape is dragged off to another yearly imbecilic Christmas situation, accompanied by the most annoying bushy-headed witch in existence.  What now?
1. Assignment

**Chapter 1 ~ Assignment**

"No. Absolutely not, Minerva. It's Christmas holiday," Snape declared from his chair as he sat in front of the Headmistress. "I should be brewing during the lull of dunderheads streaming through my classroom."

"Severus, this isn't a request," Minerva replied, her black eyes hard as she looked at her Potions master. "You should jump at the chance to travel and to be of assistance. Many people would kill for this opportunity."

"Then send one of them," Snape hissed bad-naturedly. "I'd kill not to go."

"Severus, I've already said you would do the escort, and you will."

Snape folded his arms sullenly.

"But don't worry, you won't be going it alone," Minerva said "Although they'll be no trouble, I thought you wouldn't mind company."

"It is trouble and I do mind company. Blast it, Minerva, every year at this time of year I'm sent on ridiculous missions, or find myself embroiled in some unlikely situation. It's as if it's all plotted out . . . "

"Don't be silly, Severus. You're imagining it," Minerva said soothingly as the office door behind him slowly opened.

"I'm telling you, Minerva . . . something is . . . arrrgh! No! This is EXACTLY what I'm talking about!"

Charms mistress Hermione Granger, who had just walked into professor Snape's line of sight, huffed up immediately with indignation at the distasteful way Snape was looking at her, as if she'd stepped in and were tracking troll shit through the office. She was dressed in a heavy wool coat, thick scarf, ear muffs, a warm cap, gloves, woolen pants and fur-lined boots.

"What's wrong with you?" she demanded, taking the chair beside him, her brown eyes narrowed.

"Nothing a transfer couldn't help," he snarled back at her. "It figures you'd pop into the picture. You always seem to appear when you are least wanted."

"Happy Holidays right back at you," Hermione hissed at him sarcastically. "And for your information, I didn't exactly dance a jig when I discovered you would be my escort companion. Really, you'll be so out of place there, like a big black cloud blacking out the sun. But it's a wonderful opportunity. Not many people have been invited there."

Hermione's eyes took on an excited gleam, which only served to piss Snape off even more.

"Minerva . . ." he began in protest, but the Headmistress held out her hand to stop him.

"You're going, Severus, and that's final. They're waiting in the entrance hall, ready to leave. You will stay with them for the next two days. Accommodations have been arranged."

Hermione clasped her hands together.

"Oh, I can't wait," she gushed as Severus brought one pale hand to his belly, suddenly feeling quite nauseous.

* * *

Snape quickly descended the staircases, his robes billowing. But Hermione managed to keep up with him despite his speed. His face was in its usual scowl, but there seemed to be several extra lines of annoyance. If there weren't, they were quickly added when he looked upon what awaited them in the entrance hall. Hermione's exclamation of "Oh, aren't they adorable?" didn't help one iota.

"No. They aren't," Snape snapped as they descended the marble staircase to the main floor. A group of twenty House Elves happily bobbed and weaved as they approached, grinning horrendously, adorned in green white trimmed hats with poofball on the ends, little green vests and curly toed shoes, just for the occasion.

Hermione walked up to them, looking a bit surprised.

"Clothes?" she asked.

"Oh no, Miss. Not clothes. Costumes. We is still in Hogwarts' service," it squeaked. "But is very excited. Very excited indeed."

All the House Elves chattered in agreement, hopping about annoyingly. Snape looked at them down his nose as long as he could stand it, then bellowed, "Be still, damn it!"

All of the House Elves huddled around Hermione, looking at Snape with terror. She put her arms around a couple of them and scowled blackly at the Potions master.

"You scared them," she declared accusingly.

"They're lucky that all I did to them, hopping about like hobgoblins. Let's go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll get back."

Snape unceremoniously strode to the door and through it without looking back.

"Come along, now. Stay together and hold hands. We have to get off the grounds to Apparate," Hermione said, herding the House Elves out the main doors.

Snape looked back and saw Hermione herding the House Elves along, for all the world looking like a caretaker of demonic nursery school pupils, the Elves hopping and skipping like children. He pinched the bridge of his nose and hurried toward the main gate. He wasn't looking forward to this trip at ALL. How did Minerva get him into these blasted situations?

He should quit. Right now. Just . . . walk.

The chittering of happy House Elves reached his ears and he frowned even blacker.

"Wait, Severus! We all need to hold hands," Hermione called as he walked through the gate. Snape turned and gave her an "over my dead body" look and Disapparated.

"Honestly," Hermione snorted as all the House Elves looked relieved. Not one of them had wanted to hold the Snape's hand. He might do something very nasty.

They Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione and the Elves reappeared in a pure white and chilly valley. Snape was standing a few feet ahead with his back facing them, his severe black robes making him look like a huge cinder in the snow covered landscape.

He was staring in horrified amazement at the scene before him. It looked as if someone had gone mad and broke into a Christmas shop. There were several wooden cabins covered in garlands, ornaments, lights, wreaths and candy canes. Indiscriminately placed strings of brightly flashing Christmas lights connected them together, and several pine trees, which didn't even belong this far above the snow line, were garishly decorated. The whole place reeked of pine, sweets and the gods knew what else. Smoke curled happily from chimneys and the windows were glazed with ice, winking in iridescent colors because of the light streaming behind the panes. It was enough to send the average person into seizures.

"Oh! Oh, we're here! Father Christmas' workshop! Come on!" Hermione cried. She and the House Elves charged the biggest cabin, snow flying in their wake as they ran. Hermione fell face first in the snow and was trampled by the House Elves on her heels. Snape smirked as she spluttered and complained, her face hitting the snow again and again as soft green feet stepped on her head.

At last, there was something was funny about this situation.

Snape watched as they entered the cabin. He heard a scream, followed by an even louder scream, then walked slowly to the still opened door.

He looked inside to see a stout, white haired old woman with rosy cheeks dressed in a holly berry covered dress and a holiday apron standing on top of a toy-strewn work bench. She was screaming and swinging an unsanded cricket bat at the Elves as Hermione tried to calm her down. The woman was terrified.

"Apparently, Mrs. Claus has never seen a House Elf before," Snape mused, entering the toy shop, bits of crusted snow dropping from the hem of his robes.

"Mrs. Claus! These are the House Elves from Hogwarts. They're here to fill in and finish making the toys for the holiday," Hermione cried at the woman, who kept swinging.

"I knew you'd show back up here one day! Nicholas doesn't run with the likes of you anymore! Now, get out of my workshop!" Mrs. Claus yelled.

Snape looked on, quite amused as Hermione managed to calm Mrs. Claus down. Apparently, this was a case of mistaken identity.

"Oh, I thought they were . . . well, there was a time in Nicholas' life when he ran with the –the wrong sort," Mrs. Claus explained as Hermione helped her into a chair. "They kind of looked like—like them. But . . . Nicholas has spent the past 400 years making up for his –indiscretions."

"Oh, I see," Hermione agreed, looking a little aghast. "These are House Elves, not—er—imps."

For a while there, St. Nick was known for snatching children and leaving only their pajama bottoms behind. Why he started giving them toys was a mystery.

Maybe it had something to do with the pajama bottoms.

Suddenly, Mrs. Claus pointed at Snape, more horror on her chubby features.

"It's the Reaper!" she exclaimed.

"No, it's worse than that. That's professor Severus Snape, the Potions master from Hogwarts," Hermione replied with a smirk as Snape scowled at her, then crossed the room and gave Mrs. Claus a polite bow.

"My pleasure, Mrs. Claus," he purred.

The old woman blinked at the smooth, rich sound of his voice and warmed immediately.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she smiled at him, standing up and smoothing her apron.

"Would you like some cookies, professor?" she asked him, her eyelashes fluttering.

"I'd be delighted," he replied.

Mrs. Claus flounced off, not offering Hermione or the House Elves anything but her bum as she hurried away. Snape's black eyes shifted toward Hermione.

"Cookies. Just for me. Hmm. I think I'm going to like it here," he purred.

* * *

A/N: Something that popped in my head. Writing was like pulling teeth though. My muse is still MIA. Sigh. But thanks for reading. ***


	2. The Business of Christmas

**Chapter 2 ~ The Business of Christmas**

Soon, Mrs. Claus had Snape seated, the work bench cleared of toys in front of him and his cloak hung neatly near the crackling fire. A plate of still warm gingerbread cookies and a cup of rich, dark cocoa rested in front of him.

"I added a little bourbon to the cocoa, professor," she said, hovering over him like a smitten brood hen, "Just to take the edge off,"

Snape sipped the cocoa delicately.

"It's delicious, Mrs. Claus. The best I've ever had," he responded, setting the cup down and taking a bite of a gingerbread cookie. "And these gingerbread cookies . . . they are to die for."

Mrs. Claus smiled at him brightly.

"Ahem," Hermione said with a frown, clearing her throat. She was still wrapped up in her winter garb, and there were no cookies to be seen. The House Elves were quietly looking at all the unfinished toys and practically trembling to get started. Both Snape and Mrs. Claus looked at the Charms mistress as if she and the Elves had appeared from thin air. But it was clear to Hermione by the mirth in Snape's dark eyes he was well aware of her presence.

"May I help you?" Mrs. Claus asked her with a puzzled look.

"Ah, yes. Mrs. Claus, we brought the House Elves so they could complete the work of your sick elves," she said a bit curtly. "What's wrong with them?"

"They have Christmas fever. It comes of overwork and is a very nasty illness. They all have high temperatures and are running at both ends, if you know what I mean. This is the worst case I've seen in over three centuries," Mrs. Claus said, then looked at Snape.

"Would you like a little more cocoa, professor?"

"Yes, please."

Once again, Mrs. Claus flounced out of the workshop. The moment she cleared the door, Hermione was all over Snape.

"Look at you, sucking up to Mrs. Claus," she seethed. "Taking advantage of an old woman. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"I believe it is Mrs. Claus who is sucking up to me," he responded. "I wouldn't want to offend her. She is merely being hospitable. Don't tell me your robes are in a twist because you don't have cookies and chocolate."

"No, they're not in a twist because of that," Hermione hissed. "We're here for a reason, not to witness a one-wizard tea party."

Snape looked around the work bench exaggeratedly.

"I see no tea," he observed.

Hermione colored and was about to say something very nasty when a House Elf piped up, "When does we work?"

Hermione looked back at the Elves, who were rising up and down on their curly-toed feet impatiently.

"Soon," she said, turning back to Snape. Mrs. Claus entered, carrying two steaming mugs of cocoa and a huge plate of gingerbread cookies. She set the plate in front of the professor, then put down the cups. She looked at Hermione apologetically.

"I'm so sorry, dear. Please, hang up your coat, sit down and have some cookies and cocoa," the old woman said.

"Thank you," Hermione said stiffly, walking over to the coat rack and removing her garments. The House Elves looked up at , full of trepidation.

"I'm very sorry, Elves," she said softly as she cleared a space for Hermione to eat comfortably. "It was a case of mistaken identity, and I must confess, I do have a bit of PTS concerning that chapter in my husband's life. Please, have a cookie."

The House Elves politely took one cookie each, then sat on the floor quietly as Hermione returned to the table and sat down. She took a sip of the cocoa, then frowned a little. Clearly, there was no bourbon in hers.

"Where is Mr. Claus?" Snape inquired. "Is he taken ill as well?"

"Oh, no. Nicholas is out bartering," Mrs. Claus said a bit bitterly. "That's what he does all year. Barter, barter, barter. For materials, for products . . . I hardly get a chance to see him. He's home maybe two days a week normally, and at this time of year, he's gone for weeks at a time. I have to handle everything around here. Keeping the cabins clean, feeding the elves, the laundry, baking cookies, tending to the bonbon trees, the Thanksgiving turkeys and the Rainbow Chickens. It's work, work, work all the time."

"Rainbow chickens? Thanksgiving turkeys?" Hermione repeated as Snape looked on with interest.

"Oh, yes. We raise the most succulent Thanksgiving turkeys here all year, then Nicholas slaughters them, I clean them and then they're flash frozen to be sold all around the world under brand names you might recognize . . ."

"Names like what?"

Mrs. Claus tittered.

"Oh, we can't divulge that. The companies that sell our goods have it in their contract that we won't ever say. They don't believe it would be good for business for the public to know they are eating turkeys slaughtered by Father Christmas. Bad for the whole Christmasy image of the season, don't you know."

Yes, an ax-wielding Santa wasn't a popular Yule symbol with the masses, as many B-movie makers found out in the '70's.

"But, I don't understand. Why raise Thanksgiving turkeys? Father Christmas has always been about Christmas," Hermione pressed.

"Christmas isn't free," Mrs. Claus said stiffly. "We have to earn an income to pay the elves, maintain the reindeer, and get materials for toys. As well as buy the more modern technology in bulk. How do you think we pay for all this?"

Mrs. Claus sounded as if she thought Hermione was a bit thick.

"I really didn't think about it. It's not something that comes up in ordinary conversations," Hermione said rather lamely. Snape looked delighted at her consternation.

"And the rainbow chickens?" Snape inquired. Mrs. Claus turned and beamed at him.

"Those are our laying hens. They lay rainbow colored Easter Eggs," she told him.

"Oh, good Grindelows," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Mrs. Claus spun on her, frowning.

"Did you have something to say, Miss . . . .Miss . . .."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione replied. "And no, I don't have anything to say."

"A true Christmas miracle," Snape quipped.

Hermione glowered at him.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and check on the elves? Maybe you can do something for them," Hermione suggested tightly.

Snape delicately dabbed at his thin lips with a brightly colored cloth Christmas napkin and rose, towering over Mrs. Claus, who was about five feet tall. He gallantly caught hold of her plump hand and brought it to his lips tenderly.

"Thank you, Mrs. Claus. Truly a delightful repast," he said softly, looking into her somewhat glazed blue eyes. She involuntarily brought her hand to her breast in reaction.

"Oh, you're very welcome, professor Snape. I will be serving dinner in a few hours," she replied.

Snape walked over to the coat rack and removed his heavy robes and cloak, slipping them on and quickly buttoning the long line of fasteners lining the front.

"Oh, all those beautiful buttons," Mrs. Claus gushed softly, then leaned toward Hermione.

"Nicholas only has –three," she admitted. She sounded rather disappointed.

Both of Hermione's eyebrows rose. Button envy?

Merlin's pubes.

"Perhaps, I should go with you, professor Snape," Mrs. Claus offered. Hermione frowned. She'd had enough of this Snapefest.

"Mrs. Claus, you really need to clue us in on how to proceed here. The Headmistress sent the House Elves to be of assistance, but they can't assist if you don't tell us what we need to do. Professor Snape knows his way around sick people, believe me," she said. "He made a living of it once."

Snape frowned at her. The little so-and-so.

"Yes, Mrs. Clause. Just tell me which cabin the elves are in. I'll take it from there," he said.

Although she looked very disappointed, Mrs. Claus told Snape where to go. Hermione would have liked to tell him where to go as well, and it would have been much hotter than an elf's cabin.

"Thank you, Mrs. Claus," Snape said, then exited the toy shop.

Mrs. Claus then looked at Hermione darkly.

"All right. Let's get to work," she said tightly.

Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that Mrs. Claus would prefer she wasn't there at all.

* * *

Snape followed the nauseatingly bright strings of lights past several cabins until he came to the right one. Low moans and groans confirmed he had found his mark. Before he entered, he noticed another cabin. It was set off a distance from the rest of the cabins, undecorated and in rather ill repair. It looked –unwelcoming.

He found he liked it immediately.

* * *

A/N: Yay! Another chapter. I did some research on the Clauses, trying to find out Mrs. Claus' name. I did, in a way. The Thanksgiving Turkeys AND the Rainbow Chickens are actually part of the Christmas lore. Pretty cool, eh? There is a lot of lore, so I picked out what I liked. I'm so glad I was able to do another chapter. :) Thanks so much for reading. ****


	3. Elves

**Chapter 3 ~ Elves**

Snape pushed open the door to the cabin to find a barracks-style arrangement of sixty "Little Bear" sized beds, separated by tall wooden lockers. In each bed lay twitching. rolling, moaning little bundles of blankets.

The walls were covered in garish Christmas decorations of course, and over a couple of the beds were portraits that boasted "Elf of the Month."

Then he breathed in . . . and gagged.

"Shit!" the Potions master hissed, pulling his cloak up over his nose in an attempt to protect it from the stench.

He was absolutely right. Next to each little bed was a bucket, full of the sick elves' muck.

Snape quickly whipped out his wand and applied a very heavy freshening spell. He'd almost lost his cookies. But his outcry had roused the elves. They all sat up, looked at him and let out a collective scream, which quickly disintegrated into individual cries of shrill, abject terror.

"It's the Reaper! He's come for us! Arrrgh! Scramble!"

Snape watched in amazement as the elves, who were still dressed like elves, in little Christmas vests, hats and curly toed shoes, leapt out of their beds and tried to hide. Some dove into their closets, others dove under their beds, one or two even tried to hide under the shite-filled buckets. It was pure bedlam.

"I am NOT the Reaper!" Snape bellowed at the scrambling creatures. "My name is Severus Snape and I'm here to see if I can help you! So come out!"

All was silent for a moment as the elves all cringed in their hiding places.

"Death's a shrewd one. Don't listen to him. He's trying to get a bead on us!" a muffled voice called from a nearby closet. "His scythe is probably behind his back!"

Frowning, Snape strode up to the closet and ripped open the door, looking down on a terrified elf. It held a large red Christmas ornament in front of itself for protection.

"If I were the Reaper, hiding in a closet wouldn't save you," Snape snarled, grabbing the elf by the shoulder and yanking him out. He held the struggling little man up in front of him, curly toed shoes dangling. "I'm a professor . . . a master of Potions. I came here to bring Father Christmas assistance. House elves to finish making toys. So kindly calm down."

Snape set the elf on the floor.

"Blinky! Are you still alive?" a voice from under one of the beds called out.

"Yes, I'm still breathing. I don't think he's the Reaper. Come out," the elf said, looking up at Snape's stone-like expression. "He just looks like him."

Slowly, the elves came out of their hiding places, looking at the wizard furtively, ready to dive for cover again if he made any sudden moves.

Snape frowned as the stench from the buckets began to rise again.

"Dear gods," he hissed. "It smells like a reindeer died in here. Don't you elves have indoor plumbing?"

The elf next to him looked apologetic.

"Well, we had a septic tank, but it kept filling up and overflowing. Mr. Nicholas got tired of digging through the permafrost and pumping it out. So he took out the toilets and now we use buckets. We've been too sick to take them to the fill. It's rather far. Mrs. Claus has been dumping them for us, and she hasn't come by for the second run yet," he said.

"No wonder you are all sick. Breathing in all the bacteria from your feces isn't conducive to recovery," Snape observed. "I'll take care of this. Back in bed. All of you."

The elves climbed back into bed, except for the ones who had tried to hide under their buckets. They were covered head to curly toes with excrement. Snape Scourgified them.

The little workers watched in amazement as Snape moved from bed to bed, using his want to first Scourgify the buckets, then casting a spell to make them self-cleaning. That should make Mrs. Claus' life a little bit easier. Imagine, dumping elf shit several times a day. The poor woman.

As he worked, Snape looked at the elves. They were multicultural. White, black, brown, yellow and there was even a purplish one. But, underneath the colors, all were rather green around the gills. At least they had stopped moaning. Suddenly, he heard the sound of retching behind him and spun. An elf was vomiting into a bucket. Then he heard a wet, squelching, spraying sound and turn to see an elf with his trousers around his ankles, seated on a bucket. Then they all started leaping out of the beds and to the buckets, running at both ends.

"This is going to take longer than I thought," the Potions master sighed as the elves retched, gagged and grunted all around him.

* * *

The House Elves were all seated at the long work benches, happily hammering, twisting, painting and gluing away as Mrs. Claus and Hermione watched. Mrs. Claus was amazed at how fast they caught on.

"My, they are handy little creatures. Each one can do the work of five elves," the old woman stated. "How much are they paid at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, they don't work for pay," Hermione replied. Mrs. Claus looked at her.

"No? How are they reimbursed then? Barter? Food?"

"Ah, no," Hermione said uncomfortably. Actually, House Elves were little more than slaves, even if they were happy to do what they did. Right now, she felt a little like a slave master.

Mrs. Claus' eyes narrowed. As the wife of Father Christmas, she had the innate ability to tell when someone was trying to dodge telling the truth. It was part of the "Naughty/Nice" thing.

"What are you hiding, Hermione? Tell me about the elves right now and the truth. I'll know if you're being naughty," she said in a no-nonsense voice.

Hermione blinked at the old woman.

Naughty?

"All right," Hermione said with a sigh. "But let's sit down first."

The two women walked over to a table covered with a bright Christmasy tablecloth and sat down. Mrs. Claus looked at Hermione attentively.

"Well, House Elves work for free, Mrs. Claus. They are bound to serve a particular home or family and remain loyal to that home or family for the rest of their lives. These House Elves are bound to our school, and are actually doing service for the school," Hermione explained, trying to make it sound as reasonable as possible.

She still disliked House Elf enslavement, but had given up on trying to do anything about it because the Elves wouldn't cooperate and clung to their lives of servitude for the most part.

"Bound? What do you mean bound?"

"Magic's involved. You see, House elves in the wild would often enter human habitations and settle there, doing work humans would do because they liked it. They would do it in hiding," Hermione said.

"That doesn't sound too bad at all," Mrs. Claus said. "I certainly could use some help around here."

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, but House Elves were very sensitive and if they thought they were under appreciated or being disrespected, they became dangerous and destructive. They would play horrible pranks on humans, taking their babies and leaving changlings, destroying crops, hitting people with elf-shot which caused a terrible, stinging pain and committing other terrible acts. At first, people tried exterminating them but that only served to make them war-like and cunning. Then magical means were used to bind them, but leaving them with the inclination to work for humans. The first House Elves were surly, but breeding was controlled, allowing only the more timid and servile Elves to bear young. Eventually, most of the negative traits were bred out and the House Elves became domesticated, like dogs but far more intelligent. I believe they are just as intelligent as we are. They can do very powerful magic and to be honest, if they were allowed to have wands, they could be much more powerful than we are. It's a crime for a House Elf to even touch a wand."

"So, House Elves are slaves," Mrs. Claus replied, cutting right to the wick.

"Yes, you can say that," Hermione agreed, her eyes a bit wet.

"Are they ever allowed to go free?" Mrs. Claus inquired.

"Yes. To free a House Elf, you have to give it clothes. The Hogwarts Elves consider it an insult if someone tries to free them. I know that firsthand," Hermione said wistfully as she remembered how all the House Elves but Dobby refused to clean the Gryffindor common room because she kept hiding clothes there, hoping to free them when she was a student.

"Clothes? How strange," Mrs. Claus mused.

"Yes. The first incident of House Elves leaving a human habitation was recorded centuries ago, before they were en . . . er . . . bound. There was a group of them that used to enter a shoemaker's shop at night and make shoes, which he sold. Business became very good until his wife made the Elves clothes as a reward for all their help. The Elves took the clothes, but were never seen again," Hermione told her.

Mrs. Claus looked over at the Elves, who were happily working away, their bat-like ears flitting back and forth, and huge smiles on their faces.

"They seem very happy despite their forced servitude," she commented. "I wonder if I could get a few of them. It would certainly save money."

"I wouldn't know," Hermione responded, hoping Mrs. Claus "naughty" sense didn't fire off. The selling of baby House Elves was something Hermione thought cruel and inhuman. House Elves had feelings for their offspring just like anyone else. It just wasn't right.

Mrs. Claus' blue eyes rested on Hermione. If she did recognize that the witch wasn't telling the truth, she didn't say anything. Instead, she said, "Well, it's time to put supper on. Would you like to help?"

"Ah, no. I'll just stay here and oversee the House Elves if you don't mind. I'm sure I'd only get in the way," Hermione said apologetically.

"Lacking a little in your kitchen skills?" Mrs. Claus asked with a smile as she stood up, smoothing her apron.

"A little," Hermione admitted.

"It's all that magic," Mrs. Claus said firmly. "It makes you lazy."

"I'm not la . . ." Hermione began, but Mrs. Claus exited the workshop without looking back.

"I'm not lazy," Hermione muttered as she turned her chair toward the Elves. "I'm just food-challenged."

* * *

A/N: Another rough writing moment, but I pushed onwards. I just couldn't bring myself to write anymore about the sick elves and Snape. Lol. It was getting pretty awful and I figured we could just imagine how awful it was. I kind of blended a few elf lores together to make up the background of the House Elves. We don't hear much about them. I just had to add a little Mrs. Claus jibe at Hermione in there at the end. Thanks for reading.


	4. Opened Eyes

**Chapter 4 ~ Opened Eyes**

Watching over the Elves for the next hour was almost uneventful. Almost. Hermione was forced to intercede when the Elves became competitive and started working faster. Smoke rose alarmingly from the increased friction and the smell of smoldering wood filled the shop. Hermione started coughing and hurried over to the over-industrious Elves.

"Slow down before you set the toys and Father Christmas' entire workshop on fire!" she chided them, using her wand to cool the toys and tools down. Chastened, the House Elves obeyed Hermione. Their ears were flattened against their heads with shame because they had to be corrected.

Presently Mrs. Claus returned carrying a huge steaming bucket and ladle. She was bundled up in a thick, ribbed red coat and with a ribbed red hood. The bucket looked very heavy.

"I'm going to feed the elves," she sang out gaily, heading for the door.

Hermione sprang to her feet.

"Wait, Mrs. Claus. I can take that to the elves for you," she offered.

Mrs. Claus frowned at her.

"You don't have enough meat on your bones to carry this," Mrs. Claus snorted. "I'll take it out to them myself."

Hermione blocked her way, wanting to show Mrs. Claus she could be useful. That "lazy" comment had stung a little.

"It wouldn't be a problem," Hermione persisted. "I can carry tons of weight using magic. Please, let me do this for you."

Mrs. Claus openly frowned at the witch blocking her way.

"I said," she began, then stopped as the door opened and Snape walked in, brushing snow off of his cloak. A large section of roof snow had dropped on him just as he opened the door. He was less than pleased.

Mrs. Claus looked at him, then thrust the bucket at a startled Hermione. She grabbed the handle, then promptly let it drop to the floor. It really was quite heavy. Mrs. Claus was stronger than she looked.

"Go ahead and take it, dear," she said, smiling at Snape. "Remember, one ladle per elf."

Hermione looked down into the bucket and grimaced. It was gruel, and resembled the dirty mop water color of Poppy's infamous gruel back at Hogwarts. The mediwitch force-fed it to every patient that stayed in the infirmary. It was believed that the recovery time for her charges was accelerated not because Poppy was gifted at healing, although she was, but because the unfortunate infirm wanted to escape her nutritious but tasteless gruel as quickly as possible.

"I've done all I can for the elves," Snape announced as he took off his cloak and the heavy robes underneath. He had on another lighter set under that, but still lined with an insane amount of buttons down the front. He hung his garments on the coat rack and continued. "They are still ill, but no longer spewing like broken faucets from both ends. And I've made their buckets self cleaning so you no longer have to serve as chamber maid, Mrs. Claus."

"Oh, you're so handy!" Mrs. Clause gushed. "Thank you so much. Let me get you a little shot of something to fight off the cold."

She disappeared so quickly, it seemed as if she'd Apparated. Snape looked at Hermione and the steaming bucket before her. His nose wrinkled.

"Did you make that?" he asked her.

"No, Mrs. Claus made it. It's the elves' dinner. I offered to take it out to the elves cabin for her. At first, she didn't want me to do it, but when you came in, she was all too happy to let me help," Hermione said, lifting an eyebrow at Snape meaningfully.

"What's wrong with your eye?" Snape asked her as he walked over to the House Elves and examined the growing pile of toys beside them.

"Nothing's wrong with my eye!" Hermione snapped back at him as she walked to the coat rack and began to layer on her outerwear. "It just seems like Mrs. Claus wants to get rid of me . . ."

Snape shrugged.

"That's no surprise," he said, picking up a wooden choo-choo train and studying it. "She's definitely not the first and I'm absolutely certain she won't be the last."

Hermione pulled out her wand and considered firing a Stinging Hex at the Potions master. He was such a git sometimes. Most of the time, actually. But she pointed her wand at the bucket and levitated it, guiding it toward the door, which Snape walked over to and opened.

Hermione stalked through it, then stopped and looked at him.

"I think someone wants to throw a Christmas party in your trousers," she said, then walked away from a rather shocked Potions master.

"You have a filthy mind, Hermione," he called after her. "She's old enough to be my mother."

"Just because there's snow on the roof," was the distant reply. There was more to it, but Hermione's receding voice was suddenly cut off when …

"What was that?" Mrs. Claus asked. She had returned to the shop, carrying a bottle of amber liquid and a shot glass in her plump hands.

Snape quickly closed the door.

"Ah, nothing," he replied as Mrs. Claus set the bottle and glass on the table and pulled out the chair for Snape, who walked over and sat down. He watched as Mrs. Claus poured him a generous shot.

"This is Nicholas' favorite bourbon," she said softly as she set the bottle down. "He says it puts heat in his belly and hair on his chest."

"Thank you," Snape said, taking the shot and rasping a little as Mrs. Claus sat down across from him. She rested her chin in her hand and looked at him.

"I wanted to ask you about our sleeping arrangements," Snape ventured.

Immediately, Mrs. Claus' blue eyes darkened a bit.

"I suppose you two wish to share a room?" she asked him tightly.

"What? No! Whatever gave you that impression?" he asked her.

Mrs. Claus shrugged then gave him a wan smile.

"Actually, I was just fishing," she admitted. "I imagine a man like you has someone special in his life."

Snape snorted.

"You have an excellent imagination because that's not the reality of it at all," he said quietly, fingering his shot glass idly. Mrs. Claus' eyes dropped to those long, pale fingers. The nails were very short, almost to the quick, and tiny, shiny scars were on the tips, as if he'd been slightly burned on numerous occasions. Snape's index finger ran over the circular rim of the glass slowly, almost sensuously.

Mrs. Claus shifted a little and cleared her throat. Snape looked up at her, ceasing his caress of the shot glass.

"Ah, what did you want to ask me about your sleeping arrangements?" she asked him. "I was going to put you in one of the guest cabins."

"Is it decorated?"

"Of course."

Snape shook his head. He couldn't sleep under flashing Christmas lights and choked by the overpowering smell of pine.

"I was wondering about that cabin that is separated from the rest. It isn't decorated," he said.

"Yes. That's Nicholas' storage area. It contains odds and ends. Things he no longer uses," she replied. "There's not really much in there."

Snape nodded.

"I see. Does it contain a bed?"

Mrs. Claus frowned a little.

"Yes, and it's probably covered inches deep in dust. You couldn't possibly want to stay in there. It's a dismal place. Dark, unwelcoming . . ."

"It sounds perfect," Snape replied. "I prefer dwellings that are, shall we say, sparse and spare. I have no need of luxury, just a quiet, private place to rest. I would appreciate it if you would allow me to stay there for the duration."

Mrs. Claus seemed to consider this, then gave him a smile.

"I see you like your privacy, professor."

"I do. At times, it's all I have."

Mrs. Claus rose.

"All right. I'll just get it ready for you," she said.

Snape shook his head.

"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Claus. I can prepare it myself and much more quickly than you can. Besides, you have enough work to do here," he stated. "You're an extraordinary woman."

Mrs. Claus blushed, flustered by the unaccustomed compliment. She hadn't felt extraordinary in ages.

"Have a bit more bourbon, professor Snape. I've got to see about dinner," she said, bustling off quickly. Snape watched her go, then poured himself another bourbon. He held it up and examined the color. Then, he frowned.

"Me sleep with Hermione Granger? Madness. Pure madness," he growled, then tossed the shot back.

As if on cue, the door opened and Hermione walked in, carrying the bucket. She sat it down and took off her coat.

"Well, the elves didn't seem too happy with their gruel," Hermione said as she hung up her coat, scarf, ear muffs and hat. She picked up the bucket and walked toward the table. She eyed the bourbon.

"I could use a shot of that," she stated.

"It's Father Christmas' private stock," Snape informed her, feeling a slight, pleasant glow from the drink.

"What's the name of it?" Hermone said, setting the bucket down and taking a seat.

"Woodford Reserve. It's made in America. Kentucky, I believe," Snape replied, looking at the bottle.

"Is it as good as Firewhisky?" Hermione asked as she conjured herself a shot glass.

"I daresay a bit better," Snape said, opening the bottle and pouring a shot for Hermione and then for himself. He was quite relaxed. He arched an eyebrow at the Charms mistress.

"Are you sure you can handle that?" he asked her as she lifted the glass.

"As you should know, professor, I can handle just about anything," she replied disdainfully, then tossed the liquor back. Snape followed.

Hermione put the glass down. Her throat was working and her eyes watered slightly.

"Well?" Snape asked her after letting out a little rasp as the liquid coursed down his throat like a pleasant flame, filling him with warmth.

"It's smooth," Hermione gasped in a raspy but controlled voice.

"Yes, I can tell by the way you said that," Snape said. "Smooth."

They sat there in silence for a moment. Snape's eyes drifted over her consideringly as she let the warmth of the bourbon settle in. He poured her another shot, then watched as she lifted the glass to her lips . . .

"Mrs. Claus thought we were going to sleep together," Snape offered just as Hermione swallowed. She choked, then bourbon spewed out her nostrils as she coughed. Snape slid back in his chair to avoid the spray, smirking terribly while Hermione clutched at her nose. Her nasal cavity was on fire and she needed a napkin badly. Luckily there were a few on the table. She dabbed at her tearing eyes and running nose.

"She thought what?" Hermione demanded after she recovered. "That we wanted to sleep together? That's . . . that's insane. Whatever gave her that impression?"

"That was the same reaction I had, minus the tears and runny nose, of course," Snape responded.

"I'd never sleep with you," Hermione said, still wiping at her nose.

This response was met with a thick enough silence that Hermione looked over at Snape, whose face was like stone as he looked down at his glass.

"I know," he replied quietly.

Hermione stopped wiping her nose and looked at the professor. Suddenly, she felt very bad about how dismissively she spoke to him. Normally, he didn't give two Knuts about her dismissiveness, but Hermione could tell that she had struck a nerve in the man. It was disconcerting to feel this kind of reaction from him. Disturbing. It felt . . . wrong. She wanted to fix it. Immediately.

"I – I didn't mean . . ." she started but was interrupted by a terse voice.

"I would have brought you some wine if you wanted a drink, Hermione," Mrs. Claus said, eyeing Hermione's shot glass with disapproval. "That isn't one of my glasses. Don't tell me you carry shot glasses around with you in case the opportunity to drink arises. That isn't very . . . lady-like. Hard liquor is for men."

"I don't carry a shot glass about. I made this one with magic. I was cold after walking to and from the elves' cabin. I didn't think you'd mind . . ." Hermione began, not even attempting to address Mrs. Claus' sexist outlook on liquor. At least this explained why there had been no bourbon in her cocoa.

"Well, there is such a thing as waiting to be offered, or even better . . . ASKING," Mrs. Clause said, picking up the bottle meaningfully. She looked at Snape.

"If you'd like another drink, professor, feel free to ask me. Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes. I suggest you get cleaned up for supper," Mrs. Claus said, looking directly at Hermione in such a pointed manner that the witch looked down at herself, almost expecting to see clumps of dirt sticking to her clothing.

Mrs. Claus picked up the empty gruel bucket by the handle, turned and walked away stiffly. She took the bottle with her.

"I'm telling you. That woman doesn't like me," Hermione said to Snape, forgetting about her faux pas only moments before.

Snape heard her statement, yet didn't respond. But he knew he didn't feel the way Mrs. Claus did towards the maddening, infuriating but challenging Charms mistress.

He wouldn't admit it publicly for a million Galleons, and would skewer anyone who even suggested such a thing on his own petard, but sharing sleep accommodations with Hermione Granger wouldn't be unbearable.

Not in the least.

* * *

A/N: All right. Another chapter. Trying to get a bead on it now. It was tough writing without smokes. I'm sort of like those old 30's newspaper reporters who toked on stogies hanging from the corner of their mouths as they typed out their articles just in time for the next edition. But I did it. Thanks for reading. ****


	5. A Party

**Chapter 5 ~ A Party**

Mrs. Claus returned a minute or two later and directed Snape and Hermione to separate bathrooms. Snape was sent to the one in the matron's bedroom. It featured a real flushable toilet, tub, shower and hot water. Of course it was smothered in Christmas decorations.

Hermione was sent to the workshop bathroom. It had a toilet, a large sink with a stopper, a bucket and an old-fashioned water pump. The sink and toilet had to be filled with the bucket to be utilized, and the water was freezing. A decrepit wreath and several forlorn candy canes were nailed to the drab gray walls. At least Mrs. Claus brought her clean towels. She heated the water with her wand.

Once they were presentable, they sat down to a veritable feast in the dining room in another part of the cabin. The House Elves continued to work away contentedly, not the least bit interested in food.

A small, perfectly roasted Thanksgiving turkey graced the table, along with yeast rolls, gravy, potatoes, green beans, savory stuffing, sausage rolls, and a delicious pecan pie for dessert. Mrs. Claus also provided a huge decanter of wine, and glasses. Hermione's glass was quite a bit smaller than that of Mrs. Claus and Snape. A warm fire crackled merrily in the hearth.

Urged on by Mrs. Claus, Snape neatly carved the turkey.

"Serve yourself first, professor. I bet you're a breast and leg man," Mrs. Claus said, filling his glass with wine before setting the bottle near Hermione.

"Moderation," she chided, ignoring her own brimming glass.

Hermione sighed and filled her small glass. Then they got down to the meal.

Everything was delicious, and the wine flowed freely between Mrs. Claus and Snape, the wizard becoming more animated than Hermione had ever seen him before. He was almost . . . charming. Hermione nearly fell out of her chair when he actually smiled and laughed at something Mrs. Claus said about mistaking him for the Reaper. He looked at Hermione who was quietly eating her food, and asked her, "Do I really look like the Grim Reaper, Hermione?"

Hermione looked at him. He was tall and pale, and there was an angularity to his facial features. But he didn't look skeletal, especially with that huge, hooked honker.

"No. I've always thought you resembled a big, black bird of prey," she replied as Mrs. Claus frowned.

Snape actually laughed. He was lit up like a Christmas tree, a pink cast added to his normally pale complexion.

"Are you saying my nose is a beak?" he asked her.

"No. Only that it's beak-like," she replied, smiling a little at his unaccustomed good nature. "I really think that the resemblance is because you always look down it at people. It's rather raptor-like."

Snape chuckled.

"The bird's eye view, eh?" he replied, eating a few string beans, then taking a generous sip of wine. "Well, I needed sharp eyes to look after you lot. Be glad for it."

Hermione nodded. She really was glad for it. Snape had protected her, Ron and Harry more than they knew in those terrible, dangerous years of Voldemort, and nearly lost his life for his diligence. He truly was a brave wizard.

"You know, professor, it takes a mature eye to appreciate the attributes of a man such as yourself," Mrs. Claus said. "Young girls always go for the superficial, rather than depth. You, professor Snape, have bearing and character. You radiate strength and just a hint of darkness. That is extremely attractive."

"I'm not a 'young girl,'" Hermione said defensively, putting down her fork and knife. "I'm twenty-seven years old. That's far from a child."

"Compared to me, young lady, you're practically an infant," Mrs. Claus replied, her blue eyes resting coolly on Hermione.

Buoyed a bit by the wine, Hermione blatantly asked her, "Exactly how old are you?"

Snape blinked. Inebriated as he was, he knew that this was not a question to ask a woman of any age. He sat back warily and didn't say a word.

"That is none of your business," Mrs. Claus snapped at her. "How rude!"  
"I wasn't trying to be rude, Mrs. Claus. I was simply trying to understand your statement about youth based on your own experience," Hermione said. "Obviously, you made that statement based on your own age so I wanted a point of reference."

Mrs. Claus' eyes narrowed a bit. What the witch was asking was reasonable based on her reasons. But still . . .

"I have been around a very long time," she said softly.

"If you're an immortal, Mrs. Claus, it's hardly fair to make such a statement based on age. You are ageless, after all," Hermione concluded.

"I am not immortal," Mrs. Claus stated as Snape relaxed. "I am just as mortal as anyone."

"Living several centuries is not common in mortals, Mrs. Claus," Hermione replied.

"No, but my longevity is connected to my husband Nicholas. He's the immortal. I am simply in his influence. As long as I live in his domicile, I am ageless," she said.

Hermione didn't look convinced.

"So, why aren't you . . . young? I mean, if your husband keeps you from aging, why are you . . . er . . . "

"Old?" Mrs. Claus asked her pointedly.

"Mature," Hermione replied diplomatically.

Snape smirked and poured himself a bit of wine. This little spat between kitten and queen was quite interesting.

"Because over the years I've left the protection of my home and husband to do things on my own, travel the world, do good deeds, comfort the unfortunate. When I did this, I aged normally. Now . . ."

Mrs. Claus' eyes turned sad.

"Now, I can no longer do that or . . ."

"Or you'll die," Hermione said in a whisper.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Surely if you travel in the company of your husband, you will be protected," Snape said, his dark eyes resting on her with what looked like sympathy.

"Yes, but . . . he's too busy. He says I hold him up," Mrs. Claus said. "So, I stay here with the elves and the animals, overseeing the work, and taking care of the home. It's my place, you see. The Eternal Goodwife. There's not much excitement . . . or . . .

"Or appreciation," Hermione finished for her, her own brown eyes full of sympathy. Suddenly Mrs. Claus' apparent rudeness was understandable. She was lonely, trapped in a life of quiet servitude, almost a prison. No matter how beautiful the gilded cage surrounding it, the bird within still sings a lonely, lonely song. Hermione wondered if Mrs. Claus had ever considered just leaving and letting her life take its natural course.

Suddenly, Snape slammed his glass down on the table, startling both women.

"Mrs. Claus, I have to admit I didn't want to come here. For years I've been imposed upon to do various holiday related deeds for the school. But I want to let you know that this is by far the most pleasant imposition I've experienced in a long time. You are a fine hostess, a fine cook and a fine figure of a woman. You are greatly appreciated by this wizard," he said, reaching over, taking her hand and kissing it.

Mrs. Claus looked as if she were going to faint away, and Hermione smiled at both her and the Potions master. She had never seen Snape be so gentlemanly or understanding with anyone and it was a surprising and very attractive side of him. Maybe something about the North Pole touched a part of him. Maybe all the lights and good cheer cut through his darkness.

Or maybe drinking just brought out the best in him. If that was the case, he should stay ripped all the time.

"Do you have music, Mrs. Claus?" Snape asked her. "I feel like dancing."

* * *

Mrs. Claus had an old hand-cranked phonograph, which Hermione charmed to play without cranking. She also had a large assortment of music from the twentieth century.

"I stopped collecting in the '70's," she admitted. "The music went all downhill from there."

Her main collection consisted of Ragtime, Big Band Music, early Rock and Roll and of course, the Blues.

Hermione sat on the bright green and red trimmed sofa and watched as Mrs. Claus selected a record.

"I hope you like swing, professor Snape," she said as she placed the record on the turntable. It was a 78 in perfect condition.  
"This is Benny Goodman's Sing, Sing, Sing," she said as Snape crossed the room and took her hands. (.com/watch?v=62ZSQUyU00s)

"I can swing with the best of them, Mrs. Claus, I assure you," he purred. Mrs. Claus blushed furiously as the heavy, cool drumbeats of the popular swing tune filled the room. Hermione's eyes went wide as Snape began to bob in rhythm with Mrs. Claus, then they both began a rather wild kicking, jumping and perfectly in step dance around the room, Snape's robes billowing as they moved.

"Wow!" Hermione said out loud, then burst out laughing. Oh, she had to make a Pensieve of this when she got back to Hogwarts or no one would believe her. Snape tripping the light fantastic with Mother Christmas. This had to be one for the history books.

If Hermione thought she was going to just be an observer, she was wrong as Snape danced Mrs. Claus over to the couch and grabbed Hermione's hand, jerking her up and rolling her against his body.

"Full participation, Spells Mistress," he purred. "I've always wanted two women at once."

Hermione blushed, and Snape grinned at her, then let her roll out the length of his arm, still dancing with Mrs. Claus. The trio jived, shucked and swung about the room, breathless, laughing, smiling and knocking over a few things in the process. When the song was over, a smiling Mrs. Claus put on Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World (.com/watch?v=EVG80vqVfSA)" and retrieved the wine and the bottle of bourbon. She provided three equally sized wine glasses AND bourbon glasses.

"I suppose times have changed," she said to Hermione as she offered her the bourbon.

Hermione took it gratefully and replied, "Yes, they have, Mrs. Claus, but you are timeless."

"Thank you, Hermione," Mrs. Claus replied softly, lifting her glass in a toast to both Hermione and Snape.

"Thank you both."

* * *

Snape, Hermione and Mrs. Claus had an enjoyable evening, partying until midnight. Snape was practically unrecognizable from his usual dour self.

"You should party more often," Hermione said to him as they danced a waltz, Mrs. Claus looking on with a smile. She'd be next.

"I would, if there were anything in my life that warranted such behavior," Snape replied, whirling her deftly.

"I can't believe how nice your smile is," Hermione observed.

"It is an ordinary smile . . . just rare," the Potions master responded as the music wound down. He released Hermione and gave her a bow. He offered his hand to Mrs. Claus, who rose quickly, almost pushing Hermione out of the way, good-naturedly of course.

Hermione put on "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (.com/watch?v=57tK6aQS_H0)" by the Platters and sat down on the sofa, watching Snape dance with Mrs. Claus. The woman looked so happy.

"You dance divinely, Mrs. Claus," Snape said flirtatiously as she rested her head against his chest. She tittered.

"But, I'm afraid this is the last dance for me," he added. "I'm completely knackered."

Mrs. Claus' face fell.

"But there's always tomorrow evening. In the morning I will help you with your chores," Snape promised.

"You're such a good man," Mrs. Claus sighed.

"That is something I rarely hear with such conviction, Mrs. Claus. Thank you," Snape replied.

Hermione yawned on the couch. She was a bit knackered, too.

Mrs. Claus was inebriated herself, very inebriated. And inebriated individuals usually don't make the wisest decisions.

"Hermione, take over for me. I have to go check on something," Mrs. Claus said.

Hermione slowly rose from the couch and replaced Mrs. Claus. Snape pulled her rather tight against him, his dark eyes a bit hooded.

Mrs. Claus left them alone.

"It's been quite the night, hasn't it, Hermione?" he asked her.

"Yes, it has."

"I imagine you found it rather startling that I am a true human being, and not just a big bird of prey," Snape said softly, turning with her. They were body to body, the soft sensual music playing in the background.

"I know you're human. I just didn't know you were . . . so human," she replied.

Snape laughed low, and she could feel it rumble like a growl in his chest.

They stopped dancing and Snape looked down at her.

"I'm very human," he breathed, capturing her mouth.

Outside, snow began to fall.

* * *

Mrs. Claus closed the door to her bedroom. She walked over to her dresser and opened a drawer, rifling through it until she came up with a small thimble. She closed the drawer, then crossed the room and pressed on a portrait of Nicholas hung on the wall. It slid aside, revealing a hidden room. It was empty of ornaments and contained one object, a very heavy large safe. The walls off the room were made of stone and were iced over so they looked as if made of black glass. She walked up to the safe and carefully turned the heavy combination right, left, right, right, left and right, then pulled on the handle.

The door slowly opened, then she stepped back as thick black smoke rolled out accompanied by high pitched evil laughter. A scaly black imp appeared, red-eyed and glistening, brandishing a very sharp black pitchfork with small skulls as the handle. It was very much in need of a pedicure.

"I know a seeeecret," it cackled, looking up at Mrs. Claus with a leer.

"And you'll keep that secret, Gigileepop, or by Odin, I'll find a way to send you back to the Pit," she hissed at him.

Gigleepop sniffed delicately at her.

"I think I smell a bit of drinky winky on those lips," the imp said, arching a scaly eyebrow. "Nicholas' private stock. When did you start tee-totaling? I thought you were a wino."

"Mind your business and get out of the way," Mrs. Claus said, reaching into the safe and drawing out a small pot.

"Using the Stuff for this. Tut tut. The wife of Father Christmas. It's scandalous," Gigileepop stated, leering again.

"The way Nicholas treats me is scandalous. I deserve a little something," Mrs. Claus said, carefully scooping the thimble into the pot and collecting a minute amount of sparkling powder.

Gigileepop seemed to peer into space, then smiled lasciviously. "If you get what you want, I promise you, it's far from little," the imp chuckled.

"Back in the safe with you!"

Giglieepop turned back into smoke and rolled back into the safe. Mrs. Claus slammed the door and spun the combination lock a few times for good measure.

She hated dealing with that imp.

She exited the room, closing the wall behind her and studied the thimble.

"Now, I just have to get professor Snape to drink this down, then be the first woman he sees afterwards," she breathed.

She headed for the kitchen.

In the hidden room, muffled music began to play inside the safe, accompanied by Gigileepop's high-pitched laughter. The band was Creedence Clearwater Revival, and the song: Bad Moon Rising (.com/watch?v=5BmEGm-mraE)

The snowfall outside became heavier.

* * *

A/N: This was a fun chapter to write. I have a completely OOC Snape here, but I think he's possible if the setting is right. Not that he'd be this way all the time, but he might let his greasy black hair down under the right conditions. I included links to the songs. I was listening to them as I wrote and thought you might like to hear them as well. Fanfiction . net readers, you'll have to go to theburningpen . com to get the links since ff doesn't allow links in the text. I also love a dancing Snape, and had visions of Brendan Fraser swing dancing with two women in "A Blast to the Past" while writing this. Lol. Here's the scene (.com/watch?v=dyjF3CeNpeQ) I'm going to have to wait to explain the exact nature of the sparkling powder Mrs. Claus removed from the imp-protected safe. Don't ask me about the imp's name. It came out of nowhere. And the kiss? Don't know where that came from either, which, I expect, our two characters are wondering as well. A little Christmas magic, perhaps? Glad to have written another chapter and glad you took time to read it. Thank you. :) ****


	6. The Stuff

**Chapter 6 ~ The Stuff**

After making a stop in the kitchen to prepare a hot toddy for Snape, and collecting several sheets, pillowcases and blankets from the linen closet, Mrs. Claus returned to the living room to find Snape and Hermione staring silently at each other, both looking rather put out.

"Is everything all right in here?" she asked suspiciously.

Snape looked at her.

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Claus. Everything is fine," he said softly.

"Fine," Hermione repeated a bit dreamily, still looking up at the Potion master, who cleared his throat and walked briskly to Mrs. Claus, taking the blankets.

"Thank you," he said rather thickly as Hermione seemed to snap out of her daze. She blinked.

"You're welcome. Now, come to the kitchen and have a hot toddy before bed. I prepare them for Nicholas all the time. It helps stave off hangovers," she said with a smile, taking one of his arms and hustling him out of the living room, leaving Hermione behind.

But not for long.

"I want a hot toddy," she said with a slight slur, and walked after them quickly.

Snape and Mrs. Claus entered the kitchen and Snape placed the blanket on one of the chairs. On the table was a steaming hot toddy. Snape could smell the fresh lemon.

"That smells delightful," he said, picking up the glass. He had no reason to think kindly old Mrs. Claus would slip anything into a drink.

Mrs. Claus watched him closely, silently urging him to drink the toddy down, when Hermione erupted into the kitchen.

"I'd like a hot toddy," she declared, walking up to Snape, who paused.

"I didn't think to make you one," Mrs. Claus said with a hint of irritation.

"Oh, that's all right. I'll just have a bit of the professor's," Hermione said, plucking the glass out of Snape hand and taking a couple of sips before handing it back to the wizard, who lifted it to his lips, his eyes on Hermione

"No!" Mrs. Claus cried as Snape finished the toddy.

Both witch and wizard froze for a moment, their eyes locking.

"Um . . . perhaps I should help you make up your bed, professor," Hermione said softly.

"No!" Mrs. Claus exclaimed weakly.

"I . . . think I would appreciate your . . . assistance," Snape purred at her,

"Let's get our coat and cloak," Hermione suggested, her eyes shining.

"Let's," Snape agreed.

They exited the kitchen, no longer aware of Mrs. Claus.

"Oh, drat it!" the matron hissed, completely at a loss. Still, she followed the pair quietly. When she stuck her head into the living room, she witnessed Hermione pinned against the wall by Snape, who was kissing her hungrily, his intentions quite clear. He was meeting no resistance. The Stuff had clearly done its job.

Mrs. Claus' eyes watered a bit and she returned to the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen table gloomily. Damn that pushy little witch. She'd ruined everything. All Mrs. Claus wanted was one night of passion and appreciation from a dark, attractive man. Another dose of the Stuff would have removed the professor's memory of it. But now . . .

Hermione and Snape returned, Snape picking up the blankets. Both gave rather distracted good night wishes to Mrs. Claus and exited the cabin, leaving her at the table alone.

Now, she felt lonelier than ever. She wiped at her eyes and her lip trembled. She was so tired of this lonely life. Everyone imagined life with Father Christmas would make every day a holiday, full of joy and good will, when it was actually a very lonely, work-filled existence. After centuries of living this way, Mrs. Claus had come to the conclusion, this was how it would always be . . . eternally. And the thought of it was unbearable.

As the falling snow thickened into a storm, Mrs. Claus let out a sigh and slowly walked to her bedroom, opening her closet door and peering into it, a dull look in her eyes. She pulled out a thick, ruffled red coat and put it on, then a hat and scarf. She then sat on her bed, took off her comfortable Christmas slippers, pulled on thick white and green socks, and then thick black boots with buckles on them.

She then threw a few items into a small bag and pulled on her gloves. She exited the cabin and headed for the reindeer stable. She looked toward the dark cabin Snape and Hermione had retired to. A small glow in the window was visible through the thickly falling snow. She blinked a few times, and then walked away with determination.

She knew what she had to do.

* * *

Snape and Hermione entered the dark, chilly cabin, Hermione lighting her wand tip so they could see. Against the wall rested shovels, ice picks and other tools. Reindeer bridles hung on the walls. A large fireplace with a huge pile of wood almost took up one wall. Snape walked over, threw in several large logs and pointed his wand at the hearth.

"Incendio," he said softly, igniting it. The logs burst into flames, illuminating the room a bit better. Then Hermione walked about igniting the hurricane lamps that rested in sconces attached to the walls. Snape watched her with flared nostrils. Finished, Hermione turned and looked past him.

In the middle of the room was a very large bed, although it had no bedding. Nest to it was a wooden night stand carved with Christmas images. Snape dropped the blankets on the bed and began walking toward her.

"I . . . I don't know why I'm here," Hermione said to him, her voice barely above a whisper. Snape stopped inches from her.

"I think you do, Hermione," he said softly.

Hermione lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment, reddening slightly before looking back up at him.

"I know 'why' I'm here, but not 'WHY' I'm here," she breathed.

Snape gave her a small smirk.

"To help me dress my bed," he said softly, taking her hand and walking to the bed.

He picked up the blankets and placed them on the nightstand and shook out the sheets while Hermione put the pillowcases on the thick, down-filled pillows. Then together they spread the sheet over the bed, tucking the ends under. It had a heavy thread count and was satiny smooth. They then put on the top sheet, securing it, followed by the blankets.

They stepped back to examine their work.

"That looks quite, cozy," Snape said, pressing his hand on the bed experimentally to test the give. "Firm, just the way I like it."

"I like a firm mattress, too," Hermione ventured, feeling very out of sorts, but very, very attractive to the man in front of her.

Snape gave her a small reassuring smile.

"All the better," he said, taking her into his arms.

* * *

Outside, Mrs. Claus finished bridling the single reindeer to the small sleigh. The animal tossed his antlers in confusion. He hadn't been tethered to a single sleigh in ages. He was used to leading a team. Mrs. Claus petted his nose reassuringly, and the reindeer calmed.

"There, there, Dasher," Mrs. Claus crooned. "You're going to take me for a little ride, and then I'll let you go. You'll be back here in time for Christmas."

Mrs. Claus turned and took a final look at the array of cabins.

"Goodbye, North Pole," she said softly, then climbed into the sleigh, taking the reins.

"Goodbye, Nicholas," she added, brushing the snow from her hood.

"On Dasher!" she cried, snapping the reins.

Dasher took off at a trot, then a gallop, his head held majestically as he took to the air, drawing the sleigh upward and into the night.

Inside the workshop, the House Elves paused for a moment, and then continued with their work.

* * *

Snape broke the kiss and felt Hermione trembling against him. He stared down at her soberly, feeling himself responding to her quaking.

"Are you afraid? Should we stop?" he asked her quietly. "Has that Gryffindor courage gone the way of the Dodo?"

"No," Hermione replied. "It's not fear, professor."

"Severus."

"Severus," she repeated.

"I'm glad it's not fear, Hermione," he said, beginning to unbutton her coat. "I've never wanted to continue with anything so badly in all of my life. I almost can't believe . . ."

Snape stopped speaking, continuing to unbutton her coat and sliding it slowly off her shoulders and down her arms, Hermione extracting her limbs as he did so.

"You almost can't believe what?" she asked. "Why did you stop?"

"Because," he said, placing her coat on the nightstand and slowly unwrapping the scarf from around her throat. "I don't want to jinx this moment. It feels as if this is . . . is some kind of sentient dream and if I speak too much, you'll disappear like smoke. I won't have you disappear witch, not now, not when I'm this close to having you."

He unwound the scarf sensuously, revealing her throat, then placing his fingers against her jugular softly, feeling the blood pulse beneath the tips.

"You are real," he breathed, removing her hat, then lifting her hair with his hands appreciatively.

"Untamed, but soft," he said. "I've always wondered what it felt like. Looks can be quite deceiving."

Hermione swallowed as she looked at all the buttons on his cloak.

"There are so many buttons, Severus," she commented.

"They serve a purpose. They remind me things shouldn't be . . . rushed," Snape responded, bringing her hands to the top fastener. "Quid pro quo, Hermione. Remove my cloak."

Hermione hesitated, but was mesmerized by his dark eyes, and slowly pushed the first button through the buttonhole. Snape made a slight noise, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Hermione moved to the next, and the next, and the next . . .

* * *

A/N: Short, I know. But I have to let my head clear. I scrubbed the floor with a bleach mixture in preparation to mop and man, even though I have the windows open and a fan in the window blowing fresh air over me, it's a little overpowering. I'd rather cliff it than try to continue writing right now. So, Mrs. Claus flew the coop. Poor thing, even though what she was planning wasn't right. But one thing I've found out in life, and that's good people sometimes do bad things. Plus it adds a little suspense to the story. Mmm, Snape narrowing his eyes as Hermione unbuttons his robes. I like the image of that in my head. By the way, I recorded "Snapey Baby" yesterday. Lolol. It's on youtube. Just go there and enter: Snapey Baby Solomru and it will come up. Thanks for reading.


	7. On Notice

**Chapter 7 ~ On Notice**

As Snape removed his cloak and draped it across the nightstand, Hermione said softly, "Severus, do you think magic is involved here?"

He turned back toward her.

"Unless you stealthily placed a lust spell on me, no," he replied. "This is the result of secret attraction on both our parts. Good food, good spirits and good company simply brought it out of us."

"I'm not normally so . . . forward," Hermione said stubbornly as Snape went at his own robe buttons, not wishing to waste too much time.

Snape opened his robes, revealing his slender build. Hermione balked as she saw he only wore a pair of briefs beneath them. A pair of very tented briefs. Her eyes quickly jerked up to his face.

"Um, didn't you have clothes on underneath your robes while we were in the cabin with Mrs. Claus?" she managed to get out, starting to back away. But Snape grabbed her and gently pulled her against him.

"That was just for decorum," Snape replied. "I couldn't very well prance around in my skivvies, could I? Although, that would have been interesting. I never wear clothing under my robes. I need to be 'accessible' in case of injury. Clothing slows one down when immediate treatment is necessary."

"I . . . er . . . I see," Hermione wheedled. Gods, his cock was enormous, the white fabric of his underwear stretched over it to nearly bursting. That had to be uncomfortable. She felt it resting against her belly through her heavy sweater. Still, she felt a little twinge of desire. Actually, she went hot . . . and quickly.

Dear Merlin. Was this really happening?

"As to your being 'forward,' you're normally not this inebriated either," Snape said, pressing his thin lips against her temple and slowly slipping his hand under her sweater and around her waist. He could feel her soft, warm flesh beneath his fingers and pulsed helplessly at her closeness. He caressed her lower back soothingly. "And I am not normally so demonstrative with my desires, but the truth is Charms Mistress Hermione Granger, you've been working your subtle magic on me for several years now. I have to confess it began after my recovery."

He drew back and looked into her brown eyes. Hermione shook her head.

"I find that hard to believe. You've always treated me dismissively. It seems you're always trying to avoid me, or get rid of me. I shouldn't be here . . ."

"Yes, you should be. You know that," Snape replied. "But you are correct, Hermione. I did purposely act the git toward you. It was juvenile. Sour grapes. I wanted you, but knew I couldn't have you, especially when you were involved with that one-wizard train wreck Ronald Weasley. I was never more pleased when I heard you broke it off with him. It was a mismatch from the start. You were nothing more than a prize to him, the kind of prize one shows off, like a medal or trophy. You are a prize to me as well, one I selfishly covet and wouldn't share with anyone if I could help it. Believe me, witch."

"Oh, Severus," Hermione breathed. "Do you really feel that way?"

"I would never lie to you," Snape replied, "Unless it was absolutely necessary."

"Slytherin to the core," Hermione said with a soft smile as he leaned down to kiss her again.

"Always," he murmured against her lips.

* * *

Father Christmas slammed his fist down on Martin Shyster's desk, making the pens, pencils, photos and everything else on it shudder horribly.

"You're being a naughty boy, Martin!" Nicholas declared, leaning over the desk threateningly, his blue eyes flashing. "You are asking far too much for those IPods. I'm buying in bulk, you little bastard. How would you like to receive a one ton piece of coal dropped on your head for Christmas?"

Martin blinked at the red-faced, rotund man before him, cowering a bit. Father Christmas was larger than life. The executive in charge of sales was sure he hadn't been that big when he first entered the office. And, he was cursing at him. And where was his red suit? He was dressed all in black leather except for the kerchief tied around his head, which was decorated with holly, snowmen and candy canes. He looked like a biker. Besides, wasn't Father Christmas supposed to be benevolent and kind?

Obviously, not when he was making purchases.

Martin rubbed the top of his head so hard, his toupee lifted a little as he met those bloodshot blue eyes.

"Well, I suppose I could knock the price down a bit," Martin said in a small voice.

"You'll do better than that," Nicholas growled, sitting back down in the seat. "I expect thirty percent off that price, or you'll never have a good Christmas again. I haven't cast a good Christmas curse in ages . . . and it's generational."

"All right. All right. You can't blame a man for trying to make a profit," Martin said, filling out some paperwork.

"Ebenezer Scrooge tried to use that excuse, too. You know how it worked out for him," Nicholas muttered. "He was lucky. You won't be."

Martin blanched and started writing faster.

He couldn't believe he was being strong-armed by Santa.

As Nicholas sat there, there was a small flash of light by the right side of his chair. He looked down just as Martin looked over.

"Arrrgh!" Martin screamed, diving under his desk. This wasn't such a good idea because the desk was open in the front, and he could see the thing better.

"What the hell is that?" he cried, reaching over his desk and fumbling around until he found his sword-shaped letter opener. He brandished it weakly from under the desk. The front of his trousers showed a small, wet stain.

Nicholas eyed the creature.

"A House Elf? What are you doing here in Muggle America? Are you bringing a message from Hogwarts?" Nicholas inquired as the Elf bobbed apologetically.

"No sir. I comes to tell you Mrs. Claus has left the North Pole. We is in your service until the toys are completed. This is part of our service, sir," the House Elf said.

"What?" Nicholas roared. "Goody shouldn't leave the workshop, especially at this time of year. Any errand could have waited!"

The House Elf's ears flattened.

"No errand, sir. She leaves. For good," it said furtively. "Very unhappy. Very sad."

Nicholas leapt out of the chair.

"Women!" he hissed, then shook a finger at the cringing Martin, who was still under the desk, listening to the exchange, a look of horror on his face. Was that a demon?

"You have that load of IPods ready for morning pickup. I have to go," Nicholas said, pushing the chair aside and striding out of the door without a wink, nod or anything remotely Christmasy. The House Elf winked away.

"I'm really starting to hate Christmas," Martin muttered, slowly climbing up and peeking over the edge of his desk to make sure that green thing in the Christmas hat was gone.

Nicholas stormed up to the building's rooftop where his sleigh and reindeer were waiting. This was his backup team. He reached into his pouch and scattered some of the Stuff over the reindeer and sleigh. He climbed in and grabbed the reins, shaking them angrily.

"Let's go. To the Pole, boys!" he yelled.

They flashed away.

* * *

A/N: Just a little something to move the story along. Happy New Year, everyone and thanks for reading. ****


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